The Dappers

After some 10 years working in women's magazines, I have entered the wild, weird, world of men's magazines. It is taking more than a measure of getting used to. To complicate matters, the company I've joined - it's now been a little more than three months - is a start-up. This means it's all the things you've ever heard, read or experienced on your own about start-ups - good and bad. It is interesting, though. And not boring. And in no way, automatic, the way women's magazines were getting to be. So far, the experience has taught me a lot about being a man. Some things happen fast, almost without warning. And some very important things are allowed to creep along unnoticed. A workplace laced with testosterone is very volatile, I must say. Decisions tend to be instinctive and all-of-a-sudden-like.

And then, there are the Dappers. I work for the Dappers. Was hired by them. They are not what they appear - but they are very comprehensively both as a group and as individuals very dapper. There is a lead one, a second in charge, one who supports and one who looks at the physical, day-to-day things. And there's a wise, yoda one - who is still very dapper. Sometimes, on the days I have time to think of things that do not matter, I am of the mind that they should also start a band.

Chaos!

While C has no more fever, he's not quite himself eithe r. So we go out for K's family bday celeb - she had requested sushi and ramen. We also go shopping for her bday gift - she picks out a wooden doll house. We run our various Sunday errands as a family, glad that we have already attended mass the evening before. And then all of a sudden K says she's not feeling too hot. Which actually means, she is feeling hot. 38.4 hot.

This means we have to cancel her little after-school bday tea party. She is livid and desolate. C is too out of it himself to even react. Tomorrow will not be fun - as it means I have to hie them off to see Dr. N - without a car. The time for resisting a prescription of antibiotics is past. Now we seek professional help. K bursts into hot, tormented tears of anger, resentment and self-pity. No one wants to be sick on one's birthday. Misery is a sick little nine-year old girl - abject misery.